We landed at Nagasaki and had a three nights' ride to Yokohama in a crowded car in which it was possible to sleep only when sitting upright. On the third day the long train came to a stop at daybreak and every Japanese soul in it--man, woman, and child--poured out, each with a towel, scrubbed vigorously at a water-trough and came back, each sawing on his teeth with a wooden tooth-brush. Such a scene could be paralleled nowhere else. I suppose the Japanese are the cleanliest people in the world. Tokio at last--and a request from the Japanese: Would we consider going back to Port Arthur? We would not. "Please consider the question." We considered. "Yes," we said, "we will go." "You can't," said the Japanese. Right gladly then we struck the backward trail of the Saxon. The Happy Exile went aboard with me, and so did Takeuchi, who brought his pretty young wife along to say, "How d'ye do?" and "Good-by." Takeuchi brought a present, too--a little gold mask of a fox, which he thought most humorously fitting--a scarf-pin for Inari-sama, which is the honorific deistical form of my honorable name in Japanese. Later, in this country, I got Takeuchi's photograph and this card: "I wish you please send me your recommondation which is necessary to have in my business." He shall have it. All my life Japan had been one of the two countries on earth I most wanted to see. No more enthusiastic pro-Japanese ever put foot on the shore of that little island than I was when I swung into Yokohama Harbor nearly seven months before. I had lost much--but I was carrying away in heart and mind the nameless charm of the land and of the people--for the charm of neither has much succumbed to the horrors imported from us; Fujiyama, whose gray head lies close under the Hand of Benediction; among the foot-hills below the Maid of Miyanoshita--may Fuji keep her ever safe from harm; O-kin-san the kind, who helps the poor and welcomes the stranger--her little home at the head of the House of the Hundred Steps I could see from the deck of the ship; the great Daibutsu at Kamakura, whose majestic calm stills all the world while you look upon his face and--the babies, in streets and doorways--the babies that rule the land as kings. I did have, too, for a memory, Shin--my rickshaw man--but Shin failed me at the last minute on the dock. Yes, even at that last minute on the dock, Shin tried to fool me. But I forgive him.